I seen things I dassn’t tell of; and I’ve walked the streets of Tremont when the walls of the ten red cities seemed crashin’ all about me. I’ve stood on the docks by the river and seen the river spread and stretch out wide—wide and purple-blue, like the seas is way south. And I’ve seen his white horses come in, with the blood streamin’ free from their throats. And I’ve seen—him—stalkin’ across the waters.
-Francis Stevens
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